


Decennial

by thedarkswan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All was not well because Draco and Hermione are horny for each other, Also they're hardly in the office, Definitely not mature content yet but it's definitely coming, Except it's not a romance, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Office Romance, Slow Burn, This could get spicy if I'm feeling saucy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27937037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkswan/pseuds/thedarkswan
Summary: Ten years after Voldemort was defeated, the Ministry for Magic is planning a celebration to honor the victory and those that were lost. The festivities draw wizards back to London from all over the globe, including, much to Hermione Granger's dismay, Draco Malfoy.“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”“I assume it has something to do with finding American cuisine unpalatable, or American girls unbecoming, or American weather unsuitable for your delicate constitution.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Very brief Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum mentions, plenty of background relationships
Kudos: 16





	Decennial

Hermione’s work day began as it usually did, in a flash of bright green flame as she Floo’ed into the Ministry for Magic atrium. A quick pass of her wand to clear any residual dust. Dodge the arriving bodies to start walking toward the lifts and-

A hand on her elbow stopped her before she could launch herself in the direction of the lifts. Glimpsing shaggy black hair as she turned, annoyed words died on her tongue.

“Harry, hi.” She leaned back to get a look at his face, confusion and mild concern starting to creep into her subconscious. Behind his wire frames, the skin around his eyes was tight and a furrow formed between his brows.

“Shacklebolt wants to see us. Tomorrow morning. Ron and us.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, looped her arm through Harry’s, and tugged him in the direction of the lifts. “What on Earth for?”

“The Decennial celebration is coming up and we’ve been tapped to be the main entertainment.” Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry shake his head slightly, trying to hide the grimace on his face. “We’ll be asked to attend, obviously, but he wants us to speak as well. The meeting is to get a sense of what we’d like to say.”

“Id est, what he’d like us to say.”

“You don’t have to impress us with your Latin anymore, Herminone. But, yes, exactly that.”

As they made their way across the glossy green floors, a few sets of eyes caught on the pair of them, mild interest sparking. Hermione suppressed the urge to yell at them, like she had every day since she started working at the Ministry. Ten years did not seemingly change the fact that people were still morbidly curious any time they caught a glimpse of any combination of the Golden Trio. 

They stepped into a waiting lift. Hermione didn’t bother reaching for the handles on the ceiling; she couldn’t reach them. She simply gripped Harry’s arm tighter as the lift launched into motion.

“This place is going to be a fiasco for the next few weeks. Lots of guests from all over the wizarding world; expatriates returning to London just for the celebration. Our office has been busy clearing visas and refreshing background checks.” There was an intonation in his voice that made Hermione look up at him again. His eyebrows flicked up, green eyes trying to convey something to her behind his glasses.

“Is there someone I should be worried about?" Over the last few years, her circle of friends had grown smaller as she more fully entered adulthood, and the list of possible annoying acquaintances was fairly long. "Oh god, don’t say Krum.”

The lift lurched to a halt at the DMLE before Harry could respond. He flashed an apologetic half smile as he pushed out, saying over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow in the Minister’s office at nine sharp, yeah?” He disappeared into the Auror office.

Without the aid of Harry, Hermione was forced to brace her feet and lean against the wall of the lift as best she could. In front of her on the lift, a blonde witch was playing absentmindedly with a piece of her hair and the color had a sudden curl of dread slithering in Hermione’s gut. She didn’t know many blondes and there was only one she knew that no longer resided in Wizarding Britain.

But… she hadn’t heard from him in months. And when she did, it was brief, non-conversational, straight to the point. Surely, London was the last place he would want to be for the ten year anniversary, right? 

* * *

Wrong wrong wrong. The worst word in the English language on all accounts. But, she found herself to be proven as such to an extraordinary degree when she walked into her office.

Hermione found Draco Malfoy leaning back in her office chair, feet propped up on her desk, dragonhide oxfords resting on the pile of documents scattered across the surface. Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest, the only part of herself that she couldn’t school into her trademark unflappability.

Despite the air of complete disinterest, he was dressed impeccably, not a hair out of place. His platinum hair was shorter than the last time she had seen him, shorn in a close crop along the sides of his head, but left to grow shaggy along the top. It was pushed back in that artfully messy way that was all the rage, somehow professional while maintaining the appearance that he’d just had a rough shag in a supply closet somewhere. A trendy navy three piece suit, tailored within an inch of its life, adorned his long, lean form, complete with a pocket watch, which he was currently contemplating.

Grey-blue eyes flicked up to finally grace her with his attention. The mirth that roiled in them had Hermione gritting her teeth as she shut the door behind her. She wasn’t a mind reader, but three previous years of sharing an office with Malfoy gave her the innate sense that whatever words were about to come out of his mouth were going to result in raised voices and crude language.

It had been two years, but it seemed like Draco Malfoy was back to wreak havoc on her life again. 

* * *

“Hermione Granger. Or, is it Weasley, now? Or, maybe, McLaggen? I truly cannot keep up with all these Gryffindor wankers you choose to sully yourself with.”

Draco kept his face carefully schooled into indifference as he regarded the witch in front of him. Two years may have passed, but she truly looked the same as she had the last time he had seen her, some seven hundred-odd days ago (not that he was counting) in the Ministry Atrium. In fact, her scowl now was remarkably similar to the one she had worn then.

Over the two years he had spent in America, Draco worried he had worn her memory smooth in his mind, buffing out the parts of her that didn’t fit whatever inane or filthy (or both, if he was being particularly indulgent) fantasy he was dreaming up at the moment. Thankfully, the witch in front of him was just as fit and intriguing as he remembered. Her hair was a bit longer, the added weight settling more of her wild curls into pretty ringlets. Her perpetual smattering of freckles ghosted across her cheekbones, bringing out the warmth of her brown eyes. Her creamy blouse was tucked into a mid-length, burgundy pencil skirt, finished with a smart pair of heels. She looked like a workplace wet dream, even with her pert lips pursed in contained anger.

“I know that you know what my surname is and I will not be goaded into an argument with you.”

He tucked his pocket watch back into his suit and said, “Aw, love, but you know how your ranting makes me positively randy.”

“Kindly fuck off, Malfoy.” She strode forward and used her wand to shove his feet off her desk, the documents scattering further, fluttering to the carpeting. Knowing it would edge her closer to outright fury, Draco didn’t bother to pick up the ones that fell to the floor, instead he let his shoes come to rest atop them (he would silently scourigfy them later, because he couldn’t bear the thought of harming something of hers nor the thought of her knowing he cared so much).

“Oh, it’s Malfoy, today. Not Draco? I suppose that’s what I deserve for leaving you at the mercy of the Ministry for the past two years. Poor little Granger, left to defend all of creature-kind by her lonesome.”

Her glare managed to darken further. It was quite astounding, really, that she hadn’t hexed him yet. “Get out of my chair,” she seethed. Stepping around the desk, she stood over him. A few more steps forward would put her directly between his knees.

“Tsk tsk, darling. Where are your manners?”

“Apologies. I meant to say, ‘get _the fuck_ out of my chair’.”

A laugh startled out of Draco, rendering him incapable of keeping up the ruse of indifference. Giving a nod of assent and a groan of great effort, he rose to his full height, letting a small smirk play on his lips as he straightened his cufflinks and brushed imaginary dust away. The movement had his desired effect: Hermione’s eyes dragged slowly up his body, eyes stuttering over areas of particular interest. Thighs, groin, chest, and, finally, mouth. Despite her heels, he loomed over her and her head tipped back as her eyes perused his face. Her gaze lingered for a moment before she met his eyes again.

“If this is how you greet all your guests, I can’t imagine how you accomplish anything in this institution of insufferable politicians.”

“Most of my guests aren’t annoying prats who used to call me slurs, so I save this treatment especially for you.”

Draco’s smile faltered and he stepped away swiftly, moving to put the desk between them. It took effort, but he managed to repress the urge to Occlude the memories her words dredged up in his mind. Ten years may have passed, but it was still tempting to shy away from emotions, to want to protect himself from the vulnerability of feeling. Interacting with Hermione had always toed the line between moving on and drowning in regret.

When he looked at her again, her glare had softened some, losing malice. “Draco…” she started.

He waved both of his hands at her, cutting off whatever placating bullshite she was about to say. “No, no, don’t you dare, sweetheart. We made a deal five years ago and I stand by it. I do not deserve your forgiveness and you are allowed to be as mad as you desire with whatever frequency you deem appropriate. Don’t you dare start apologizing. It’s insulting to yourself. I won’t have it.”

She regarded him with a tilt of her head before nodding stiffly. Lowering herself into the chair, she folded her hands, then unfolded them and crossed her legs instead. As soon as she rested her hands on the desk in front of her, her fingers began drumming an inconsistent rhythm. Hermione Granger was the picture of nervous energy and Draco desperately hoped he would be able to use it to his advantage.

“Would you like some tea? Coffee, perhaps?” she asked, reaching for her wand. Shaking his head, he placed his hands on the desktop, locking his elbows and leaning in. Those doe eyes flickered down once to spare a glance at his hands. He spread them a bit further for her benefit. She tried to hide her swallow by tugging at the charm of her necklace (the necklace he had gifted her the first Christmas after they had begun sharing an office; it was a small dragon, for reasons Draco refused to admit to himself to this day).

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”

“I assume it has something to do with finding American cuisine unpalatable, or American girls unbecoming, or American weather unsuitable for your delicate constitution.”

Draco snorted indelicately. “Glad to see a few years apart has not tarnished your sterling opinion of me. However, while all those things are in fact true… well, except for the delicate constitution, mind you… that is not what brings me back to the fairer side of the Atlantic.”

“Well, out with it then. Some of us have important work to do.” As if to prove a point, she bent down to retrieve the documents he had scattered on the floor when he vacated her chair. It gave a brief glimpse down her blouse (during which he definitely did not note the delicate lace bra she wore beneath it, definitely not). When she straightened again, she continued fussing with the papers, organizing them according to Merlin only knew what system.

“I know you’ve already proofread all those documents, dear. You missed a minor legal issue with the treaty for the Centaur Hunt, by the way. Certainly, you have time to grab lunch with an old friend.”

“I wouldn’t call us old friends. New friends, at best.”

“Ah, but you do acknowledge that we are friends.” The look she gave him would have sent lesser wizards running. She hated being talked into a corner, but the Gryffindor in her hated backing down from a challenge more. Draco knew he almost had her right where he wanted her.

“Come on, petal, one lunch. Certainly, two years gives us enough topics of conversation for one lunch. I’ll pay.” Her lip dimpled beneath her teeth as she bit down on it. She had always been particularly responsive to that specific pet name.

Hermione waited long enough that it became a genuine concern she might decline. Finally, she nodded stiffly. “Fine. Noon sharp.”

“Don’t flatter me with such excitement. You’d give a gentleman the wrong ideas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Forcing myself to finally start posting my multi-chapter WIPs so maybe I'll be motivated to finish them. 
> 
> This story is kind of my baby. It's so tropey and self-indulgent. It's been living inside my brain for at least a year. I have a particular fascination with stories that revolve around characters in their late 20s because it's such a period of turmoil and change and we don't talk about it enough (also could someone please tell me to not be scared of them because I'm currently terrified of my approaching late 20s). So, I threw my two favorite dumb-dumbs into a dramatic time and space to see what they would do to each other and was surprised with the result. (Full disclosure, I did not know "Dicennial" was a word until I was trying to name this beast.) Anyways, I hope you liked your first look at this and keep your eye out for the next chapter. There may or may not be tender hand holding.
> 
> This was proofread and edited by yours truly, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://the-dark-swan.tumblr.com/).


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